“I saw thet suthin’ riled you, the last time;
Be you in sperrits now?”—and drew again—
But why go on? I met him yesterday,
The nineteenth time,—pale, sad, but patient still.
When Hakon steered the dragons, there was place,
Though but a thrall’s, beside the eagle-helms,
For him who rhymed instead of rougher work,
For speech is thwarted deed: the Berserk fire
But smoulders now in strange attempts at verse,
While hammering sword-blows mend the halting rhyme,